Flowers

“Ewww!” 

Timmy looks at the flower thrown over his book - a white rose. The flower is beautiful and he feels a sharp pang in his chest as he does every time he sees a flower being plucked. Giving people flowers is unnecessary and Timmy will write you a thesis on it if you try to argue that it is a romantic and beautiful gesture. There is nothing romantic about hurting plants. The birds and bees and the plants didn’t work so hard and long to make a flower just for your freaking girlfriend or boyfriend. Give your partner a plant instead, dammit!

But that pang is replaced with disgust as soon as he looks up at who has thrown the flowers over his homework.

Ansel.

His roommates. His frenemy. 

Timmy knew this Valentine’s Day would suck - which is why he went to school and got back to the apartment as quickly as he could and started working on his homework, keeping himself busy the whole day - but he didn’t know it would be this bad.

His gaze keeps flipping back and forth from the flowers to Ansel even though he knows the significance of white roses are different than the red ones. Face scrunched up and disbelief in his eyes. Ansel is anything but soft - with Timmy at least. He is usually an asshole with Timmy - always making him realize what a loser he is, making fun of him, oftentimes his jokes go on the verge of being homophobic, and also sexist. His definition of friendship is a lot different than what Timmy grew up learning. Timmy has learned to not waste his breath on him. Is Ansel then trying to repent? On Valentine’s Day? Seriously?!

“Ew…” Timmy says again, cowering away from the flower.

“Dude, chill. Even if I were gay, I wouldn’t even waste a cent on you,” says Ansel, taking off his coat and going into his room. “I would date someone like, like Nick. Someone I could walk with shoulder to shoulder. Equality and all that shit.”

“Then spare me and give this to your boyfriend,” Timmy yells behind him, flicking the flowers away from his books with his pen. “Also, that’s you’re girlfriend’s brother and it’s disgusting.”

Ansel comes to lean against the doorframe, smirking. “You think the flower is from me? How could you think yourself to be so…” he waves his hand, looking for a word. “So… not-a-loser?”

Timmy shakes his head and goes back to his homework.

“If this was the middle ages, you would be a peasant. And peasants and royals don’t mingle.”

“Yeah, but we’re sharing an apartment and it says a lot.” 

Ansel huffs a laugh and lets it go. “This is from that loser boyfriend of yours.”

Timmy falters for a second. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he mutters under his breath.

“Why, did you find a bigger loser? I didn’t know it was possible.”

Timmy finally looks up at Ansel. “He’s the captain of the football team, Ansel. You follow his dumb yelling and bump chest with him and make weird fucking noises like a bunch of fucking brainless trolls.”

“Okay, whoa, hey, sore subject. Point taken.” When Timmy doesn’t reply for a while, Ansel starts, “I thought you broke up with him.”

“That’s none of your business,” he mutters to his maths book.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Just sort it out among yourselves and leave me alone ‘cause he sent this dumb flower for you and says he will give you the third one when you go down to meet him, and I’m putting my foot down, I can’t be bothered with this bullcrap any longer.”

Timmy scoffs, furious at this point. “Yeah, I’ll go meet him!”

Ansel sighs. “Whatever,” he mutters before turning in for the night.

When he found a white rose in his locker this morning, he realized how dumb it was of him to not change his locker code after the whole thing, because there was only one person who knew the combination beside him. 

He threw the flower straight into the dustbin that stood beside the lockers so if a certain someone came looking or was spying, he could get the message.

Timmy is absolutely done with this shit.

Fucking three roses… Is he trying to make up a symbol or some shit?

It doesn’t sound like him. He’s never been sappy. Therein lies Timmy’s issue. You might not be romantic, but there should be a limit to your toxic masculinity and need to prove yourself.

Fuck! He flicks the flower off the table. He can no longer concentrate on his homework, so he searches the drawer for his pack before he remembers that he ran out three days ago. He dumps the empty pack into the bin with more force than is necessary.

He is not a regular smoker. He wouldn’t say he is addicted, he can quit whenever he wants, but sometimes it becomes a necessity that he can’t do without. But he also knows he is lying to himself and to his mom who asks him to quit every time she calls. Sometimes he wishes his family hadn’t ditched him in the middle of the term like this and move to France. Now he is left here with fucking Ansel. But at least school is going to be over soon and he can go to France if he wants to. Fuck Julliard. He has nothing to leave behind here. Nothing.

He wraps a thick scarf around his neck and over his mouth, puts on his long coat and hat, and, shoving his hands into his pockets, rushes out of the door to get cigarettes. At the doorstep of the building, however, his way is blocked by a giant figure sitting on the stairs. Timmy knows that back.

 “Are you fucking insane?!” Timmy half yells.

The boy looks back from where he is sitting. His teeth clattering. “Hi,” says Armie, his voice shaking from the cold.

Timmy removes his hat and sulkily throws it at him, and receives a smile and a small ‘thanks’ in return. A part of him wants to leave him here and go get what he came out to get. But the poor guy is still shivering. Sighing, Timmy gives him his scarf as well.

“I don’t…” starts Armie. “You’ll–“ 

Timmy shows him the hoodie he is wearing underneath the coat and pulls the hood over his head, finally allowing Armie to take the scarf without feeling guilty. “Are you crazy?” says Timmy, softer this time.

“Yeah, thought you'd come down if I asked. Didn't plan for the alternative.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you say you were waiting?”

Armie frowns. “Ansel didn’t tell you? That asshole!”

“What…?” Timmy remembers their conversation. That motherfucker was probably drunk and didn’t feel the need to specifically tell him that Armie was waiting downstairs right now. But then again, Timmy probably wouldn’t believe him if he did. Armie just is not the type to make a gesture or be sappy. “Fuck,” he whispers. “It’s probably my fault. And Ansel’s too. Sorry.”

Armie shakes his head. “It’s fine. I thought you were mad and… I don’t know, punishing me.”

“And you’d be here, taking it like a good boy? You fucking idiot.”

Armie rubs his forehead. “Don’t I deserve it?”

Timmy tuts and looks in the direction of the bodega. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Armie hesitates before he tentatively takes a single red rose in a paper cone out of his bag and offers it to Timmy. Timmy laughs bitterly and puts his hands back into his pockets, turning away, making Armie lower his hand.

“Will you sit down at least?” Armie requests. “For a minutes. Please?”

Exaggerating reluctance, Timmy sits down beside him on the stair and realizes that Armie is still slightly shivering.

“Look, I’m not…” starts Armie, looking at the rose instead of Timmy. “I’m not good at this… dating, talking… feelings, being out…”

This isn’t Armie. The Armie Timmy knows doesn’t talk about feelings! He isn’t this meek. He laughs at Timmy quite cruelly for trying to talk about exactly the things he just mentioned. So, Timmy loses it. “If you're not comfortable being out, why the fuck did you come out?”

“It wasn't really my choice, was it?” There’s a touch of anger in Armie’s voice all of a sudden. “We were a thing and–“

“And then you go and fucking ask Elizabeth Chambers to prom! And I hear it from fucking Ansel. Trying to take pity on me. Do you know how humiliating and hurtful that is?”

“It's not like the whole school knew about us. What is so humiliating about it? And isn't prom and dancing some kinda... kind of like a couple's thing?”

“So what were we?!” Timmy’s voice going high.

“I mean like a guy and a girl thing...”

Timmy sighs, closing his eyes. “Armie, this isn't about fucking dancing.”

“No, I realized that. Anyway, I talked to her. She'll find another date.”

“So you're using a girl for you fucking ego? You're pathetic, Hammer.”

 “I wasn't... Okay yeah, I was. But I talked to her. Even she understands, why can't you?”

“What do you want me to understand?”

Armie finally looks at him. “That you matter to me, Timotheé.”

If Timmy wasn’t so pissed and Armie wasn’t such an asshole, Timmy would like to kiss him. No, that beautiful face of his deserves to be slapped.

“Look, I’m gonna… My dad doesn't give a shit about who I sleep with. Most of the time he isn't home. My mom though.... she doesn't look at me the same anymore. My brother… I feel... I dunno, I feel kinda ashamed somehow. And I thought I had an advantage, right? I like girls too. So if I find a girlfriend, maybe it will give my mom some sort of relief.”

Timmy nods. “I understand. Or I try to. I never had to face any of it. But that’s why it’s important to talk.”

“You're lucky. I wish you were a girl, Timmy.”

Timmy shakes his head. He has tried to understand this fucking asshole. “Do you realize how fucked up that is.”

“Nn–“ Armie looks up at him, surprised. He searches Timmy’s eyes with slight fear in his own. When he doesn’t get his answer he realizes that he has said something wrong again but fails to realize what it is. “Timmy you have to consider... I'm not like you, I–“

“Why the fuck should I compromise? Who are you to me?”

Armie raises his hands in surrender. “I am not asking you to compromise, just... teach me. I wasn't brought up like you were. Teach me what's right and wrong. I wanna be more like you: open, free, proud, not having anxieties.”

“Fuck you, you don't know me.”

“No, maybe I don't. But you're perfect. I know you are. Doesn't matter how many issues you have. You'll always be perfect and a badass to me. So just teach me how not to be a pathetic loser.”

Timmy’s eyes soften. “You're not a loser, Armie. You just have to stop giving a shit about what other people expect of you.”

Armie nods. Then a smile appears on those full lips that Timmy so loves. “I gonna try for Columbia.”

“And you’re gonna get in.” He takes a pause. “I’m probably going to France. Or Julliard if I get in. I haven’t decided yet. But we have time I guess.”

“Tons.” Armie chuckles. “Why are people already going crazy about prom again?”

“You should know.”

“I was told to secure the prettiest girl as soon as possible…” When Timmy throws him a glace, he says, “And I am sorry for my actions.”

“Why are you here Armie?” Timmy asks seriously.

Armie offers him the flower again. Timmy takes it and immediately throws it on the ground. Sighing, Armie picks it up, dusts off. "I want to go to prom with you."

“Won't you be embarrassed dancing with a twink?”

“No, I want to show you off. You look so fucking gorgeous in suits.”

Closing his eyes, Timmy shakes his head. “That is so– fuck, I'll let that one go.”

“I better go or I'll turn into an icicle.” He takes a deep breath and stands up, taking off the hat and the scarf. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore. It’s okay. I just wanted to make the most of the time we have left before we leave for college. You are special. And I didn't wanna give up on this. But I made a mess of everything. Goodnight, Timmy.” With a nod and a sad smile, Armie starts walking away with the rose in his hand.

Timmy feels a pang in his chest. Watching him walk away doesn’t feel right somehow. Armie is problematic, he needs guidance and he has asked for it. But he is able to realize it. Look at where he is now compared to the asshole football player Timmy had a small crush on. That, plus that fact that Timmy fucking adores the guy – with his issues and everything – as Armie has said.

Timmy lets him go a couple of paces before he decides. “Hey, idiot.” Armie turns around. “Come up.”

Armie is taken aback but recovers quickly. “No, it's fine, I can go home.”

“It wasn't a request.”

Armie smiles with relief and walks back to him. “I’ll have to text my mom,” he mumbles.

Timmy takes the dumb rose from him and shuts him up with a kiss.